I’ve heard it said that God is far
more generous than we deserve – that He
allows a few of us, the lucky ones, to choose
some form we loved and then return. To try
again, to find some time and place
we passed, perhaps as children, places now
a part of times
that some-one there ignited for a while.

Now when you drive again through grey,
flat nothingness between
the river and the range about the time
your mirrors fill with sunrise, watch the road.
It’s scratching time out there, and if you see
some aging, vague and garrulous galah
floundering round the bend, steer wide, slow down,
you may have met before – you never know,
blood and feathers on your car may mark
the end of someone’s second time around.